I was really sad
most of the winter, though the fact of the matter was, I hadn't lost
anything. I came in from the rain each night
looking more and more like a grownup, imbued with the terrible wisdom that I couldn't have everything
, and by everything I mean the one thing: I mean the boy.
In lieu of sleep I stayed up writing cryptic
emails to my old favorites
: "Will I ever get too old for this? Will anything ever work for me? Will the pieces ever fall into place, mamma?
To no avail, to no reply.
The scar tissue on the heart
is something that gets you tougher and tougher, and hurts only less frequently
as time wears on. How long does that last?